


All that Glitters

by CorvidFightClub



Series: Dragon Fire [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Bottom Thranduil, Gold Fetish, M/M, Sexual Coercion, Top Smaug, dick jewelry, dub-con, he has a human shaped dick, idek man, no dragon dicks, this is not the fic you are looking for if you want dragon dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-21 23:57:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13751892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorvidFightClub/pseuds/CorvidFightClub
Summary: Thranduil has a very dangerous secret admirer.





	All that Glitters

**Author's Note:**

> No dragon dick. I repeat, no dragon dick. Smaug shapeshifts and has a human skin. If you consider that dragon dick, fine, whatever, you do you. 
> 
> I don't know what possessed me to write this.

The hot, driving wind forced Thranduil to look aside and close his eyes. He knew what lay below; the carpet of Middle Earth stretching towards the horizon, a solitary peak in the distance stabbing into the sky like an accusing finger. Erebor, the defeated stronghold of the dwarves. 

“Why do you turn away, elf king? So few of you have seen the world as we do,” Smaug said in a voice like a bellows. The talons clutching Thranduil tightened until he gasped for breath. “You should be flattered.”

As suddenly as they had squeezed, they were gone, replaced by the ground rushing up to meet him. Thranduil couldn’t help the ragged sound torn from his throat as he plummeted downward. He could hear the wind of dragon wings stirring the trees when he was snatched up again, tossed, caught, Smaug’s throaty laughter a thundering around him. 

Thranduil found himself caught a final time and the dragon tucked his wings into a dive. Through the stone they flew into the mountain. Thranduil felt it immediately. A stifling push against his senses, crowding close around them. He knew well the feeling of being enclosed; the Woods were rife with it, only he felt the company of trees reassuring, as he if was being cradled, watched over. Here, he felt only the cold weight of long forgotten halls filled with the dead. No moon, no sky, only darkness. 

Then he saw it. Emerging out of the depths like an ocean dancing with moonlight. The lost gold of the dwarves rose up to greet him as Thranduil dropped from the dragon’s talons. He fell hard on his side with a cry, grabbing at the mound of gold he’d landed on to keep from sliding down its slope. He pulled himself to his feet, coughing, the air knocked from him. Glancing up, he saw it; the smooth hilt of an engraved sword protruding from the sea of gold near a pillar. He heard the rustle-snap of great wings and felt a gust of hot air upon him as he sprinted to it, his bare feet struggling for purchase in the sifting gold. Thranduil’s hand grasped the hilt when he saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eye and ducked too late. A wing unfurled, knocking him into a gem studded valley.

Thranduil came to his feet in time to see the dragon’s bulk land beyond the rise of the golden mountain, hidden from sight. The elf king waited, listening to the coins and gems settle into place. Silence. Cautiously he moved up the slope, his step so light he disturbed nothing of the hoard, his sword held low and ready. Thranduil crested the mountain and peered down.

Gold glittered cold and silent in his vision, but there was no dragon. Holding his breath, the elf king examined the nearby hills of treasure, searching for any that looked as though a lizard lay beneath. He wished for armor. He wished for light in this dank place that reeked of metal, heat and death. Most of all he wished for a black arrow. 

Nothing moved. Nothing breathed. 

Thranduil took a cautious step backwards. A second. A third meant to mark his retreat to higher ground when a vice on his ankle ripped his feet from under him, tossing him over the height of the hill. Tucking his limbs close and his sword closer, Thranduil collided with the solid weight of treasure and rolled to ease his landing. He came up again ready, somehow finding purchase in the shifting pile of gold, borrowed sword at the ready. “Come, monster,” he spat. “Or have you gotten cowardly as well as soft in your old age?”

A thunderous chuckle filled the darkness. “The trifle speaks at last! How novel. I was afraid I had broken your powers of speech.” The gold near the top of the opposite hill stirred, parting. A man’s head and shoulders rose from it, a red cast to his skin in shadow, a gold sheen upon it where the dim light struck it. The man walked down the hill of treasure with ease, golden eyes fixed upon the elf king. A smile slithered across the man’s features. “You think I have only slept while I’ve claimed this mountain? A sad thing, indeed. Perhaps to comfort your own fears of Smaug the Calamity coming for your forest.” 

Thranduil struck a blow meant to decapitate, and the man--the dragon-man--brushed the blade aside with one forearm, sparks striking where steel met flesh. 

“And I have watched you, little king, shining like gold in the midst of the trees.”

The elf struck again. Smaug caught the blade in his hand, squeezing it until the sword glowed a dull red and warped when he twisted his wrist. Thranduil yanked away from the dragon-man and backed up, still holding the disfigured sword before him. 

“Tempting me for years. I have dreamed of you,” the dragon mused, tipping his head, dark red hair falling over his long features. “Of gold with a heartbeat.”

Heart pounding in his ears, Thranduil sought to understand the dragon’s words, the dark, greedy gleam in his golden eyes when the beast looked at him. “I have taunted you never, Smaug. My people have left you in peace. Why this now?”

“I have seen you at your window, walking your garden at night, shining like a moonstone under the stars.” Smaug hissed, “You have tempted me greatly, time and again.”

So the dragon had not slept all these years. Perhaps flying overhead nightly with none below any the wiser. The thought was chilling. “And what do you demand for this...grave insult?” Thranduil questioned. 

“You,” the dragon said. “Laying with me and my hoard.” 

The elf king narrowed his eyes at the dragon, “If you are suggesting I simply languish in gold the way you do, pigs and Men shall fly first.” 

Smaug smiled as though he’d expected the retort. “Nothing so simple as lounging, elf king. But you deny me. Mirkwood shall smoulder with dragon fire instead.” 

A cold sweat began on Thranduil’s spine. He could see the dragon coming in the night, a faint sliver of something in the sky, a shadow across the moon, then the explosions, small as embers, getting larger by each passing second. He could hear the trees and his people cry out. He could hear them dying, for none were as old as he, to know the sight of dragon fire from afar. Thranduil’s left side, breast to hairline, crawled, burned despite the deadened skin that felt nothing. But he had not struggled for so long to find his people a safe place in Middle Earth to see them die now. 

Thranduil’s mangled sword struck the gold at his feet. “You have me, dragon.” 

Smaug hmmed to himself, shifting his broad shoulders and rolling his head to crack his neck. “Pity. I had hoped to pay my respects to your kinfolk. You will have to suffice for them all.” The dragon came closer and Thranduil realized they were almost of a height, the dragon taller and ruddier next to his own pale, slender form, a sickly red sun next to the moon’s crescent. The dragon extended a hand that ended in short claws and raked open the front of Thranduil’s nightshirt. “Devest yourself, elf-king. I have other adornments for you.”

Thranduil backed up a half-step, hand going to the tear in his garments. 

“I will not repeat myself.”

The elf-king hesitated, fear dawning in him, then he saw the gates of Mirkwood sundered by fire. His people scattered like ash on the breeze. His son…

His son. 

With careful fingers, Thranduil undid what was left of the lacings of his fine nightshirt. He could feel the dragon’s steady gaze on him as the fabric parted and slid from his skin. His light breeches and small clothes followed, a pale pool against the carpet of warm gold.

So came the jewels. Chains so fine and delicate, they wavered with his heartbeat where they hung against his chest, strings of rubies, citrine. Bracelets of gold about his wrists, a belt woven of rose gold and diamonds wound round his hips. More rubies and bands of gold for his fingers--Smaug seemed to favor them above all else.

Another might’ve marveled at the wealth draped upon him. Thranduil saw the baubles for what they were: gaudy shackles. The prideful lizard tethering him to the rest of his hoard. Anger turned him bold. “Am I to stand here until the end of days, displaying your wealth, wurm?” Thranduil growled. 

“Tempting,” Smaug hissed, “Though short-sighted.” He fisted one clawed hand in the jewelry around the elf-king’s neck, dragged him a few short feet to where an elaborate rug had surfaced above the gold, then threw Thranduil down upon it as a child would throw a doll.

Dazed, Thranduil pushed himself up to his elbows only to be weighed down by Smaug’s bulk crawling up his body. Even in a human guise, Smaug felt hot against Thranduil’s skin, like stone left in the sun. A harsh tongue followed the line of his neck from collarbone to jaw, a harsher hand tangling in his hair and bowing his head back, baring his throat. It was too hot, too heady somehow. His limbs felt heavy and unwilling to obey.

This was a nightmare. Some terror brought on by too much drink before bed. Thranduil closed his eyes and willed himself to wake. A hearth-warm hand stroked over his cock, kept its ministrations until he hardened. 

“A place I’ve neglected to adorn you,” the dragon chuckled. Another fine chain dripping teardrop rubies like blood circled his manhood with lazy passes of Smaug’s hand and pulled flush to his skin. That harsh tongue found him there, too, lapping his cock, tasting the gold, fondling the rubies. Then under. 

Smaug rumbled, as if finding what he sought, and licked at the pucker of his ass. Laved it, teased him open. The dragon eased away then, moving Thranduil over to resting on his knees, chest to the ornate rug beneath them. Again, that tongue teasing him, then something larger. Thranduil gasped as that rigid heat forced its way inside of him, those clawed hands pulling his thighs farther apart, then scratching their way up to his hips and digging into his flesh, pulling him back and back and back. He wavered there on the edge of sharp pleasure for what seemed an age, filled with dizzying heat until the end came upon him like a wave and he arched up to meet it. 

Thranduil woke with a start, his clothes filled with sweat and disarray. The window across from his bed had blown open, the wind howling beyond it. He rubbed his face to clear away the dream then rose, walked to the window.

Stopped halfway, a hand seeking his groin and the strange feeling there. 

A delicate chain of gold, dripping rubies like blood, tangled around his cock.

As if to say, mine.


End file.
